


That's This World Over

by LaLainaJ



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cherry Picking Of Canon, F/M, Power Hungry Witches, Smut, Team Work Makes The Dream Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 07:19:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16445318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaLainaJ/pseuds/LaLainaJ
Summary: In a world where witches have wrangled the power from vampires Caroline and Klaus have worked seperately to gain back ground. She's meandered across the country, looking for holes to exploit. He's been stuck in New Orleans, playing politics and waiting for his chance.Caroline's arrival in the city might just tip the balance in his favor.





	That's This World Over

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coveredinthecolors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredinthecolors/gifts).



> Luiza! This twisted somewhat from my original plan (isn't that always the way?!) but I hope you'll forgive that. Happy Sweet Swap!

**That's This World Over (Oh Well)**

 

New Orleans is not what Caroline had expected. She’s been to all sorts of places that didn’t match the pictures filed away in her head – impressions gained from movies and books and stories overheard. She’s used to that, has come to expect a certain monotony, sameness from city to city. There’s a strict order, tidy boundaries, layers upon layers of pretenses and willful ignorance.

In the cities you follow the rules or you disappear.

She watches the sun set over the city, perched on a rooftop, a cup of coffee in her hand, and considers what’s different. It’s a pretty enough sight but the sounds, or rather the lack of them, are jarring. Everything audible is natural - water lapping at the banks of the Mississippi River, a few scattered birds chirping as they scavenging for a meal in the streets below.

There  _should_ be jazz music and drunken laughter, the steady roar a crowd makes when they’re having a good time. There should be traffic, the hum of car engines and shouts from road ragers.  All the beeps and dings and computer generated trills that used to be in the background of shops and restaurants.

It’s the first city she’s been to that doesn’t bother to try and pretend that everything’s normal and Caroline’s not quite sure how she feels about that. Part of her is excited, eager to dive in and see just  _why_ New Orleans lacks the picture perfect veneer she’s grown accustomed to. There are nerves, too. She’s spent her vampire life keeping a low profile, has only one solid connection and she trusts Enzo implicitly. She’s been quiet about it, had thought she’s been flying under the radar, but she hasn’t meekly been rolling with the witch imposed new world order.

She’d thought about it, about taking the easy route. Found she just couldn’t.

Once upon a time Caroline had been used by someone stronger than her, hadn’t had the means to fight back. She’s different now. She plays along when necessary, presents herself as demanded and concentrates on keeping her fangs tucked away as random witches pull power from. She takes the blood bags and tokens for the markets she receives in exchange with a version of her old pageant smile. When the witches are in her head Caroline shows them her fears, her worst memories, all of her smallest and silliest musings. She’s always had a busy mind, a tendency to zoom from plan to plan at lightning speed and to juggle dozens of mental lists, and she uses it to her advantage. As a distraction.

Drunk on their power, sure of their superiority, not a single witch has ever bothered to dig deeper.

Someday they’ll regret underestimating her.  

Caroline takes another sip of her coffee, it’s instant and terrible but she’s long since accustomed herself to the taste. She focuses on the streets laid out before her, trying to fix a map in her memory. It’s rare that she goes longer than a few days without doing some sneaking, it’s only prudent that she know her exits.

New Orleans is brand new to her. She’d had it on one of her lists back when she’d thought she could achieve everything her optimistic little heart desired through the power of her will and a meticulously plotted five year plan. She’d thought its party city rep had epic spring break possibilities, figured she and Bonnie and Elena and their boyfriends could make a road trip out of it. She’d had a couple pages in a scrapbook devoted to the plan, had mapped out the best places to get beignets, the highest rated day tours, and the clubs near the colleges with the cutest boys in their brochures.

Back then, when she’d gone to sleep every night in her pink bedroom, she hadn’t had the faintest inkling that someone could be anything but human. That someday she’d be 83 without a single grey hair or creaky joint to her name. Had someone told that Caroline Forbes she wouldn’t ever graduate high school she’d have replied with an acidic comment about hallucinogens and long term brain damage.

She’s still a big fan of goal setting (and witty insults) but age and experience have taught her the value of flexible timelines.

She’s been looking for weak spots in the witch’s regimes, sussing out enemies and sizing up allies for decades and still has no clear endgame. The very idea would have driven High School Caroline  _insane_.

New Orleans might be the break she’s been waiting for. Whether it’s a good pivot or a disastrous mistake is yet to be seen. She’d thought avoiding ground zero was the best play but small shifts over the last two years had changed her mind.

It had started in Chicago, a nearly imperceptible tightening of the ranks. Witch’s stopped mingling with the humans, kept to their warded homes, only venturing out in groups. They demanded more draining sessions, enticed the vampires with greater rewards. Caroline hadn’t known much of war but it had certainly seemed like they were preparing for battle.

She and Enzo had stocked up, moved on, only to find the same thing in Philadelphia. In Atlanta too. That’s where they’d met Josh Rosza who’d cheerfully told them he’d snuck out of New Orleans.

Supposedly an impossible feat.

New Orleans had been home to the supernatural community’s coming out party and, according to the whispers, the battles that had waged had been fierce, bloody and destructive.

Josh had been vague about why he’d left - only grinning and stating he, “Had to see a guy about a thing.” Caroline had been intrigued. She’d coaxed talk of resistance and rebellion from other vampires before but it had always been hushed, in dim corners, with furtive glances to make sure no one was listening.

Josh’s openness might have meant he was crazy and Caroline had been half tempted to dismiss him. But, while bragging about his slick escape, he’d mentioned that representatives from nearly all the witch lines resided within the French Quarter.

A hook she hadn’t been able to resist.

Caroline expressed interest, said she’d never been to New Orleans, got him talking. Josh hadn’t even blinked when she’d made a subtle remark about black market phones, had easily rattled off his number.

Four months later and here she sits. New Orleans is stretched out before her in all its battered glory, a mystery waiting to be unravelled.

* * *

 

As it gets darker the building beneath her begins to wake. She begins to hear movement, scrapes and clangs and thumps, indicating that her new acquaintances – all of them vampires – are getting ready for the night.

That, at least, is familiar. In every city vampires have reverted to nocturnal rhythms.

A few people had introduced themselves as she as Enzo had schlepped their things up the apartment Josh had cleared out for them. Her daylight ring had been eyed with envy, something Caroline’s grown accustomed to. For years she’d worn it on a long chain around her neck, had been careful to keep it tucked away and out of sight. A month after she’d left Mystic Falls she’d ended up in a hostel in Columbus, had woken up tense with fear to a hand over her mouth and a knife stabbing into her wrist.

Her fangs had dropped and she’d bitten down, had used her free hand to grip her attacker’s throat and squeeze.

She’d been lucky that the vampire who’d tried to steal from her had been just as new as she, that he’d been wasted and slight, that the girls who’d been sharing their dormitory had been heavy sleepers. She hadn’t quite understood compulsion and having to explain why she was cleaning up blood spatter would have been awkward.

It had been her second kill and she hadn’t felt even a fraction of the same guilt the first had inspired.

Daylight rings are even harder to come by now that witches hold more than their fair share of power.

The door behind her creaks open and Caroline glances back over her shoulder, just to make sure that Enzo’s been the one to follow her and that it’s not one of the building’s other tenants attempting to be overly friendly. Caroline’s a little on edge because of the lack of sleep she’s enjoyed lately and it would be a shame if things got tetchy so early.

She relaxes when she recognizes Enzo’s familiar frame. He remains a few steps inside, where the waning sunlight can’t burn him. “Evening, Gorgeous,” he calls. “Did you sleep?”

Caroline thinks about lying even though it would be pointless. Enzo’s been with her for three decades now and it hadn’t taken him more than a year to figure out all her tells. “Not really,” she calls back.

“Ah, should I be prepared for your personality to be extra sparkling this evening?”

She knows he’s baiting her so she refuses to give him the satisfaction of flipping him off. She would never let a little tiredness get in her way and he knows it. “I’ll be the perfect amount of sparkling, thank you.”

She’ll take her long dead grandmother’s advice, at least to start. She’ll be honey sweet, charming and flirty as she gets her bearings. Vampires aren’t quite as prone to underestimating her as humans but she can usually convince them she’s just a good time kind of girl, perfectly content to sell her energy to buy pretty trinkets and booze. She’s not old enough to have a reputation, isn’t stupid enough to have cultivated enemies. If she keeps her glass filled and focuses her attention on whoever she’s chatting with, they won’t notice she’s paying more attention to the conversations going on around her.

“Our accommodations are a step up from the last few weeks,” Enzo says, once it’s dark enough for him to venture out onto the roof.

An understatement. They’d been forced to sleep in the van several times on their journey down the coast, Enzo sweltering under layers of blankets and their pile of luggage. The sight of actual beds had been a welcome one. Caroline hadn’t been able to sleep, however.

She’d had too many questions rattling around.

 She’d spent the day exploring, restless in unfamiliar territory and wary of the strangers in close proximity. She’d found that the building has plenty of windows, mostly covered with black paint. The floors are now scuffed but Caroline’s sure some custodian had once spent half his life buffing and polishing the dark woods and marbles and intricate tiles.

“There’s even a pool downstairs.” It’s filthy and neglected, not something Caroline would ever consider setting foot in even if she can’t catch anything, and good indicator that once upon a time this building would have cost a pretty penny to live in.

“Not much of a swimmer, myself.” Enzo bends to settle himself next to her and she hands over her mug when he reaches out.

Caroline inches over, pressing closer as he takes a sip of her cooled coffee. It’s an instinctive offer of comfort. She’d gotten the story of Enzo’s time with The Augustine Society in bits and pieces over the first few years they’d travelled together. Knows that they’d once spent months experimenting on him to see if drowning could kill a vampire.

That they’d learned that no, drowning was never a permanent death, no matter how much vervain had been dissolved into the water.

He doesn’t talk about his time in captivity now, doesn’t even have nightmares from what Caroline can tell, and when he does it’s usually the punch line of a terrible joke.

“It’s been so long I might not remember how to doggy paddle.” She glances over at him, mimicking the motions, “That’s when…”

He laughs, “I know that one.”

“Really?” Enzo isn’t great at pop culture, often misses the meaning of the sayings Caroline had grown up with. Perfectly understandable considering he’d spent half of the twentieth and the first chunk of the twenty-first century in captivity.

He bumps his shoulder into hers, “Used even when I was a boy.”

“Huh. You learn something new every day.”

Enzo passes her mug over before leaning back on his hands. His head tips towards the sky, his eyes closing. It’s warm enough, humid enough, that Caroline hopes he can imagine what the sun feels like. She averts her eyes before he notices her watching him. A deep dislike of any hint of pity is something she and Enzo have in common. His foot knocks into hers, “Here’s hoping that’s not the only new tidbit you get to store away tonight, hmm?”

She drains the rest of the coffee, face twisting at the bitterness of the final mouthful. “Wow. That’s some serious optimism. I am impressed.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel it.”

Caroline sighs, “I do. Looks like Josh wasn’t bullshitting me. Maybe we might make some noticeable progress. _Finally_.”

“None of that,” Enzo scolds and she presses her lips together against the urge to smile. First he goes all glass half full and now he’s nagging? She really has rubbed off on him. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt magic quite this strongly. Have you?”

Caroline shakes her head, “No, I don’t think so.”

“See what happens when you make friends?”

She elbows him, “Shut up. Maybe I’m just picky.”

“I am a tough act to follow.”

“Yes,” Caroline drawls, “however could I top digging you out of a pile of rubble and feeding you blood while your arm grew back. Clearly, no other friendship could compare.”

Actually, if she’s being totally honest, that’s kind of true. Enzo had been delirious for days, kind of crazy for months. Back then she’d figured he was just sticking around while he got acclimated to freedom but he’d stayed even once he caught up to the world. Enzo, she’s learned, has an impressive capacity for loyalty. She’d saved him and he’s determined to return the favor.

Never mind the fact that Caroline doesn’t  _need_  saving.

“Perhaps your little witch friend  _is_ here. Or at least someone who knows her, can give you a direction.”

Caroline’s crossing her fingers that Enzo’s right even if the thought of seeing Bonnie again fills her with anxiety. She’s always known that if she has any chance to actually _do_ something, to somehow break the power monopoly the witches have built and fortified, she would need a witch. One with some serious juice and Bonnie’s the only such witch she knows.

She’s banking on Bon not having drunk the Kool Aid and she’s well aware it’s a gamble, that her hopes are built on shaky ground.

Caroline keeps her face smooth, her worries tucked deep where even Enzo would be unable to guess at how sharply they gnaw at her. “I’ll need to make myself pretty if I’m going to get anything done. Dibs on the bathroom.” She uses his shoulder to lever himself up, can’t resist ruffling his hair.

Enzo slaps her hand away, rolling to lay back, his eyes falling closed once more. He appears to settle in and Caroline moves away. She just hears his soft grumble as she steps inside, “She says as if she doesn’t  _always_  hog the bathroom.”

Rude. See if she leaves  _him_  any hot water.

* * *

 

No one’s sure exactly how the old world had ended. Or no one Caroline knows anyway.  The why is obvious to anyone with a handful of brain cells to rub together. Witches have hated vampires since The Original Witch had created them. The stories say that Esther had regretted turning her children into monsters, had wanted to fix her mistake neatly, to kill them, and wipe out every vampire that walked the earth. Her sister had seen things differently.

Dahlia had seen an opportunity.

A witch could draw an awful lot of power from a vampire.  And vampires, for all their speed and strength and abilities to heal and compel, needed blood to survive. One could control the vampires; use their abilities, if they could control the blood.

A simple enough plan. Dahlia’s first step? Limit the blood supply.

Most witches would never even think of taking such a drastic step, or using magic for mass destruction. Dahlia had evidently anticipated resistance and had systematically eliminated all those who could stop her.

Caroline been in France when the news reports had grown alarming, renting an adorable little cottage near a vineyard, feeding off the tourists who liked to wander away for picnics and privacy. Her hair had gotten lighter than it had been since she’d been a toddler and she hadn’t had a single tan line. It had been idyllic and she’d mostly ignored the outside world. Until she’d gone three days without a meal crossing her path and had been forced to venture out of her bubble.

Only to find the tourists had all gone home. The couple who owned the vineyard had welcomed Caroline into their home distractedly, had appeared pinched and worried as they’d discussed driving to Toulouse to check on their children who had stopped answering their phones.

She’d taken a few sips from each and rushed back to her cottage, had read through dozens of articles on her tablet. She’d learned that people had started dying. Quickly, and without symptoms or pain. First a few, and then more, the numbers growing every day, the victims all sharing one blood type. The tone of the news had been baffled, worried, because no one, not a scientist or a religious leader or a self-proclaimed psychic, could explain how or why.

No one had thought to blame magic.

Then the news had broken that humans weren’t truly the top rung of the food chain.

The human population had already been so shell shocked, struggling to function with so many losses, that they’d welcomed the offered help. Dissenters had been quickly hushed up, the witch’s band aid solutions accepted. Vampire blood to heal injuries, spells to make life easier. Witches promised they could fix problems both big and small. That they could melt away anxiety, make sleep less necessary, boost resource production – that with a little magic the world could be as it was.

The demanded compensation was small. Just a little blood.

Back then, watching shocked anchors on CNN moderate panels of serene witches and blustering politicians, Caroline had felt a little sick to her stomach. But she’d never anticipated just how quickly everything would shift.

She’d been used to melting into a crowd, mingling with humans, making and discarding friends and identities, feeding discretely and leaving no trace. Within five years that had been impossible.

Witches claimed the cities. Created human communities they could monitor and guard. Allowed the vampires to live on the fringes, bartered blood for power.

She’d been grudgingly impressed by the sheer volume of planning that must have gone into the scheme. It must have taken decades to put every piece into place. Neat little magical barriers, invisible to non-witches, enforced the boundaries. Werewolves and vampires were left out in the cold.

The werewolves had retreated, claimed land and grown comfortable in the isolated mountains and thick woods. Wandering into their territories was usually a death sentence.

Vampires, however, had fewer options. They’d tried to resist. First, they picked off most of the humans who hadn’t made it to the safe harbors the witches had created. Those unfamiliar with denial had been hasty, hadn’t thought long term, left bodies behind. Used to excess (the billions of humans had made meals easy to come by) the idea of rationing was foreign.

Caroline gets it, kind of. She’d been travelling, with a stocked cooler courtesy of a friend’s stash, and hadn’t been one of those who’d gotten desperate. Plus, she’d worked hard as a brand new vampire to hone her control. Had thought she could be a good enough vampire to earn her way back into her childhood home.

Still, she totally thinks that anyone who’d gorged and killed a human without bothering to think about their _next_ meal had been a moron. They’d played right into Dahlia’s hands, had been responsible for the complete lack of options vampires had been left with.

Sadly, getting turned into a vampire didn’t actually make anyone smarter. A dumb human became a dumb vampire.

For rations Caroline’s had to do plenty of things she hates. She’s gritted her teeth and let a witch pull power from her, has ignored the taunts about the things they’d seen in her head. Has endured all manner of sleaze and has managed not to rip out vital organs.

Though she remembers every slight.

That very first day, the news fresh, Caroline had thrown together a bag full of essentials, much like she had when she’d run away at 17, and headed to the closest airport. Her instincts had screamed at her to find someplace familiar, that she’d be safer on her home turf, and she’d listened. She’d compelled her way on to a flight, one of the last to leave before the airlines had all been forced to shut down.

Listening to her gut had likely saved her life. The European vampires and covens had never found the uneasy peace that those stateside had carved out. Small pockets of vampires had survived but only by living off the grid, subsisting on animal blood and avoiding contact with humans. Caroline’s not sure if she believes the stories but she has no way to check their veracity.

She’d wondered if Dahlia had somehow expected that would happen, if it had been part of her plan. She’s not sure how the rest of the world had fared, if some places had vampire populations similar to those Caroline’s been living in or if vampires have been completely wiped out of countries or continents. Dahlia’s got plenty of power to draw from, enough to stave off those who might challenge her leadership.

Caroline’s not willing to be a witch’s battery full time, has no desire to do what most vampires do and contract with an individual witch. Enzo feels similarly, chafes at authority, and so they travel. They store up what blood rations they can and hop from city to city. They’ve witnessed vast swathes of the countryside that remain virtually empty, inhabited only by the rare humans who can live off the land, a skill set that few claim in the twenty first century.

The witches making the publicity rounds in the beginning hadn’t been shy about enumerating a vampire’s weakness and there’s a good chance a human surviving outside the witch controlled cities had fashioned wooden bullets and could hit a moving target.

Caroline had learned that the hard way.

She’s just finished her hair when there’s a knock at the door. It’s soft, tentative, and Caroline takes her time, double checking that her curling iron is turned off before she goes to answer. She checks the peep hole, finds a familiar-ish face. She opens the door, offers a smile that’s mostly genuine, “Hey, Josh.” She notes that he looks tired, that his skin is paler than it should be.

He appears happy to see her. “Glad you found the place. I’ve been told I suck at directions.”

She and Enzo  _had_  spent a fair amount of time puzzling over Josh’s texted instructions on how to find the building but she decides to give the guy a break since he looks like he’s about to fall over. “We managed. I hope your last minute emergency wasn’t too dire?”

“Medium dire, nothing I couldn’t handle.” He sways a little, a hand reaching out to grip the doorframe.

Now, Caroline really wants to grill him because there’s very few reasons why a vampire would look like Josh does right now – desiccation, werewolf bite, witch draining past him past his limits are the top three contenders – but asking questions invites questions and that’s something Caroline’s careful to avoid. She likes Josh but it’s been a very long time since she’s trusted someone new.

“Medium dire,” Caroline repeats, not trying to hide her skepticism.

Josh grins, “Trust me, I’ve been in tighter spots.”

“If you say so.”

“I’ll regale you with stories some time, promise. When I have more time to brag about just how awesome I am.

“Only if I get equal brag time.”

“Deal. I just stopped by to see if you wanted to come out with me tonight. I’ll introduce you around. A friend of mine, Marcel, is having a party. He’s kind of famous for them.”

If Josh is talking about Marcel Gerard, and the NOLA connection makes Caroline think he just might be, then he’s famous for more than his parties. She doesn’t agree immediately, no need to make her interest obvious, “How fancy are we talking? I haven’t unpacked yet.”

“Not fancy. We only do fancy on the full moon. It’s become kind of a tradition. Hope you packed a ball gown.”

Please. Caroline always travels with at least three. She will need to track down something for Enzo.

“What time’s the party?” Caroline asks. “And where?”

“Things will get going around nine. Come by any time after. And it’s just down the street. You’ll hear it no problem.”

“Really? I was just on the roof. It’s so quiet.” She’s fishing but Josh doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just doesn’t mind.

“Not a whole lot of daylight rings to go around, you know? It livens up once it’s dark.”

“I saw plenty of lights across the river…”

Josh shakes his head and Caroline could swear the ‘aw shucks I knew I forgot something!’ expression he wears is feigned, “Crap, I didn’t tell you, did I? I mentioned there were witches here, right?”

She’s beginning to suspect that her instincts, the ones that demanded she keep Josh at an appropriate distance for a fun party friend, had been spot on. Considering how witches lived now, in isolated little pockets, mentioning that there was a big ol’ group of them in the city you’d talked up isn’t something you’d forget about. She plays along, “Yep, you did.”

“Well, the witches took over The French Quarter. And the neighboring districts. There are… barriers. Think magical force fields keeping out the undead.  _Unpleasant_  force fields.”

Usually the barriers are just solid. Walls that can’t be seen. Josh seems to mean something very different.

It’s a struggle not to allow herself to be visibly pissed. “So if I were to cross the river…”

“Your skin would be peeled from your body. In tiny little strips. I’ve seen it. It’s super gross.”

Yeah, Caroline would have appreciated a heads up about that one. “Good thing I didn’t get too adventurous with my exploring today.”

Josh is either actually a decent guy – or just smart enough to fake it – and apologizes. “Yeah, I’m really sorry, Caroline. I would have mentioned it in my welcome wagon plans hadn’t fallen through. I should have left a note or something.”

She decides to let it slide, mostly because she’s fairly certain Josh will be more useful as an ally than as an enemy, especially if his connections are as promising as they appear. Caroline shrugs, “No big deal. My skin remains unpeeled so if you buy me a drink we’ll call it even.”

Josh relaxes, his smile grateful. “That I can do. I’ll see you tonight?”

“You sure will.”

He stumbles a bit as he turns to go, catching himself on a wall. Caroline steps out, reaching for him but he waves her away. “I’m fine, seriously. A blood bag and a cat nap and I’ll be good to go.”

So he’s not recovering a werewolf bite.

Either Josh is way friendlier with witches than your average vampire or he has bigger problems than he’s willing to admit. Caroline will see what she can find out tonight, will have Enzo keep his ears open.

Hopefully, between the two of them, they’ll have a clearer picture tomorrow.

* * *

 

Caroline walks in to the bar alone. She gets a few interested looks. It might be because she’s a new face, or it might be appreciation for the leg baring dress she’d selected for tonight.

Enzo will follow within a half hour. They always make their own rounds the first night in a new place, will compare notes when they get home and see where their impressions differ. Josh had been correct; the sounds of music and laughter had been an easy trail to follow, especially considering their earlier lack. Her eyes widen as she takes in the space. It’s well maintained, all gleaming wood and intricate stained glass, light years away from the shabbiness of her apartment building. It’s also crowded and, if she’s not mistaken, vampires and humans seem to be mingling freely.

She’s absorbed in the puzzle, probably paying too much attention to trying to pick out the different heartbeats around her, and is startled by an unfamiliar voice saying her name. She whirls, shoving her hand into her pocket to wrap around the discrete blade she keeps there – it would only slow a vampire down but a small le advantage is better than none. She’s puzzled by the friendly (and kind of dazzling) smile she’s getting from a  _very_  hot man she’s never met. “You’re Caroline, aren’t you? I’m Marcel. Josh told me to look out for you.”

Another ping to Caroline’s hinky meter.

She takes his offered hand, keeping her grip soft. “Did he, now?”

Marcel doesn’t seem offended by her wariness, moves so he’s standing next to her. “I’ve lived in this city a long time. Keeping track of newcomers is an old habit.”

Huh. Kind of alarming.

Before Caroline can find an excuse to drift away another voice chimes in. “And he’s got a weakness for pretty blondes.” It’s a woman speaking this time, one with full lips and great eyebrows, wearing a rocker chick leather jacket that Caroline immediately covets. “I’m Gia,” she says. “Also a friend of Josh’s.”

“He is friendly,” Caroline replies blandly.

She stiffens when she feels a palm come to rest on her back, though the pressure is light and in a reasonably polite area. She’s not a big fan of being boxed in and she turns, ready to snarl out a warning, but when she catches a glimpse of the newcomer the words refuse to fall from her lips.

She’s never set eyes on this man before – he’s the kind of pretty she’d remember, and he oozes the confidence only a guy who’s not used to being forgotten can possess – but she’s going to tread carefully.

He’s got to be old. And an old vampire in New Orleans? There is a decent chance he’s an Original. The Originals are the only reason Dahlia hadn’t been totally successful, why she’d settled for a quid pro quo system instead of total subjugation. Caroline’s mission, her attempts to track down a very powerful witch, could very well get her head ripped from her neck.

If they’ve got plans of their own, and Caroline can’t comprehend why they wouldn’t, they could very well see her as a nuisance to be taken care of.

Or, if she plays her cards _just_ right, she might be able to convince The Originals that she brings useful skills and a boatload of knowledge to the table. She’s been to dozens of witch controlled cities, has hoarded info and cultivated connections. Surely that’s useful.

Josh had said that his covert trips out of New Orleans had to be quick, that he needed to be back before his absence was noted. Vampires couldn’t book flights, or take trains, so it was unlikely Josh or any of The Original’s other minions had managed to get far. Taking back New Orleans would be a blow but one the witches could recover from. They could make another stronghold, consolidate their power somewhere far away.

To win, to be free, they would need to take _all_ the cities.

Caroline realizes she’s been quiet for a beat too long but a quick glance at the people surrounding her shows they’re not displeased. They’re all watching her, measuring her.

Luckily, Caroline’s always been good at rising to the occasion. She steels her nerves, makes her first move.

She lets her eyes drift over the man who’d joined their loose circle last, doesn’t try to hide that she likes what she sees. A small smile curls his plush lips and Caroline returns it, shifting her weight to she’s pressed closer to him. He leans in and when he speaks she can feel his breath on her skin, “Let me get you a drink, sweetheart. Marcel was about to offer but a particularly temperamental pretty blonde needs a word with him. And, since he's rather fond of his intact limbs, he'll heed her wishes.”

She shifts her eyes to Marcel, finds him looking more amused than annoyed. Gia’s expression is mostly blank but her eyes are definitely cataloguing Caroline’s reaction.

Show time.

Coming to New Orleans will either get her the answers she’s been chasing or turn out to be the worst decision of her life.

“Haven’t had decent liquor in weeks,” Caroline says cheerfully. “Lead the way.”

* * *

 

He doesn’t say anything as he ushers her away and the crowd seems to ebb just for him, opening up a clear path to the bar. His hand stays on her, spread wide over the small of her back and warm through the thin fabric of her dress.

She’ll just have to cross her fingers that this is drink will be a lucky break, and not a death sentence.

Drinks appear as if conjured, two glasses of bourbon on the rocks. He waits until she’s settled herself on a stool before taking one for himself and the crowd keeps a respectful distance. Caroline notes all this, assumes her suspicions are correct. “Caroline Forbes,” he says, after a moment. “From Virginia, I believe Josh said?”

Caroline’s never told Josh where she’s from. How, or more importantly why, does this guy know?

She turns to face him, resting her elbow on the bar. It seems like he wants to play games and it’s been ages since she’s let her inner psychotic competitor fly free. “It’s been a long time since I was from anywhere.”

He doesn’t accept the deflection. “How long?”

“Anyone ever told you that you ask a lot of questions?”

It comes out testily and she’s surprised that he seems delighted by her temper. She’s also a little annoyed that he’s got such great dimples. How is that even fair?

“I’m not especially fond of surprises.”

Caroline lifts her glass, taps the rim to his, “Apparently we have something in common.”

“Two things. At least. I also spent much of my youth in a small town in Virginia. Or, more accurately, what the maps now label as Virginia. I went back in the early years of this century. I find I’m sorry our paths did not cross.”

Kind of flattering, kind of creepy. “I left when I was still in high school.”

“Go Timberwolves,” he jokes, without a hint of hesitation or shame.

She sucks in a slow breath, counts to five as she lets it out, determined not to let her heart race or her anxiety show. A quick scan of the room tells her Enzo’s either not arrived or is lurking somewhere she can’t see so she’s without backup at the moment.

Whoever this guy is his intel is  _really_  good and he’s not trying to hide it. Caroline’s beginning to think she’s playing above her skill level.

Admitting that chafes her pride something awful.

She straightens, tosses back the rest of the drink, welcoming the burn. “Can I ask _you_ a question?”

He agrees, “I suppose that’s fair.”

More than, in Caroline’s opinion.

“Which Mikaelson are you?”

If she’s shocked him he hides it well and his smile is all pleasure. “I might have to revise my opinion of young Joshua’s instincts. You’re as clever as he’d claimed.”

Another compliment? Caroline’s beginning to think she’s not the only one with an agenda here. At least, if he’s interested in buttering her up, he’s probably not planning on killing her tonight. “That’s not an answer.”

He takes his sweet time answering, motioning for her glass to be refilled. She doesn’t touch it, watching him with what patience she can muster. “I’m Klaus,” he finally says. “And I do believe we can help each other.”

Funny, but she’s never heard a thing to indicate that Klaus Mikaelson’s the helpful sort.

Caroline’s got approximately sixteen thousand questions and comments brewing but his hand lands on her bare knee, long fingers wrapping around and squeezing. The shake of his head is tiny, barely noticeable, but the gaze he casts around the club says plenty.

The walls have ears.

She plays along, sliding to the edge of her stool so his hand slips up her thigh. She doesn’t think his thumb stroking her skin is entirely necessary – surely no one’s watching that’s closely – but it’s distracting. She tosses her hair a bit, arching her back enough to make the most of her boobs. “I’m always down for a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Lovely,” he murmurs. He leans in, his lips just brushing her cheek, “Will you allow me to show you around tomorrow? We’ll have a fair amount of privacy in the daylight.”

Ah. So she _can’t_ trust the vampires here. Not that she would have.

“Sure. I’ve heard great things about beignets.”

One last pass of his thumb, higher than the last has her thighs tensing. He pulls away, slowly, like he doesn’t _want_ to. “I know just the place.”

* * *

 

When the knock on the door comes, Enzo uses his age to his advantage and flashes in front of her. He gets it open before she can decide if a little early morning violence is called for so Caroline has to settle for silently vowing revenge.

How severe said revenge ends up being will depend on just how big of a pain in her ass Enzo decides to be. He props a shoulder against the doorframe, blocking Caroline’s view which does not bode well for her chances of getting out of this situation cleanly. He shifts when she tries to slip around him and she pokes him in the back, “Enzo, seriously? Move.”

“Not until I get acquainted with your new friend. Only proper considering his… reputation.”

So nice of Enzo to  _completely_ ignore everything she’s said about making nice with the paranoid thousand year old hybrid despot.

She rises up on to her tiptoes, catching Klaus’ eye, “Ignore him, please. He spent a looong time in a tiny cell, the monotony only broken up with periodic bouts of torture, and has never quite shaken off the crazy.”

Klaus’ expression reads surprise and his eyes flit back to Enzo, appraising now, “Interesting.”

“You’ll find I’m hard to break,” Enzo declares and it kind of sounds like a challenge.

One she really hopes Klaus doesn’t plan on taking up. For all Enzo’s bravado she would probably bet on Klaus’ centuries of experience. He’s got to have some old timey torture implements stashed away somewhere, right? Old vampires never threw anything away.

“As much as I love a spot of violence,” Klaus drawls, “I thought I’d try a different tactic this time.” He lifts his hand and a ring’s dangling from his fingertip. He flicks it towards Enzo who catches it right before it hits him between the eyes. “Heard you didn’t have one of these, mate.”

Enzo has no snappy comeback, a rarity, and Caroline leans over his shoulder confirming that yup, that shiny blue stone certainly appears to be genuine lapis lazuli. “How did you manage that?” Caroline asks, incredulous. Since the balance of power has shifted wildly in the witch’s favor new daylight rings are impossible to get. Plenty of witches who’d worked with Dahlia, and those who’d been persuaded to join up later on, had broken the magic they’d weaved on rings. Caroline has no doubt a vampire or two had been caught unaware and paid the price. She’d spent months tense and wary, afraid Bonnie’s magic would fail her and she’d be burned to a crisp.

Her daylight ring has remained reliable, had continued to protect her. It’s why Caroline has hope that Bonnie could be persuaded to help her.

Klaus shrugs, modest. “I’ve a connection or two across the river.”

If anything, that tidbit is an even bigger shock. “What, do you have immunity from the skin peeling force field or something?”

“You know, I’ve never tested it. I rather doubt it. Dear Aunt Dahlia isn’t especially fond of me.”

From what Caroline’s pieced together Dahlia’s goal had been to trap the Originals in a room and draw their power until basically the end of time. Witches could prolong their lifespans but by using the old magic Klaus and his siblings possessed Dahlia had planned to be immortal. Klaus and his siblings had, for obvious reasons, not been amenable. The body count in New Orleans had risen steadily for three years - vampires, werewolves, witches and humans - until a detente had been reached. The details of the agreement are sketchy, getting a rundown of the finer details had been one of Caroline’s goals for the day.

Enzo’s testing the ring’s fit, finally settles it on his index finger. “I suppose I should say thank you but I suspect there are strings attached to this little act of generosity?”

Klaus doesn’t bother with denial, “One or two.”

Enzo nods, “I’ll not hurt Caroline, nor work against her, but I suspect you’ve already sussed that out. By reputation you’re not lacking in brains, hmm?”

“I was told the two of you are near joined at the hip, yes. And my plans will require both of you to cooperate.”

“Then I suppose we can come to an agreement.” Enzo flexes his fingers, then turns to face Caroline. “I do believe I’ll take a walk outside.”

She’s about to offer to accompany him, to ask Klaus if she can meet him in an hour or two. Enzo hasn’t been outside in the daylight in more than a century and that’s kind of a big deal. Caroline feels like she should take some pictures to commemorate the moment. Enzo huffs out a laugh, easily reading her intentions. “ _Alone_ , Gorgeous. I know you’ll end up blubbering. I don’t need that kind of sentimentality over a simple stroll.”

“It’s an important moment!” Caroline protests. “Excuse me for being happy for you, geez.”

He shakes his head, exasperated, and steps outside the apartment. His last remarks are addressed to Klaus, “Have her back by sunset will you?” Caroline holds her breath, half expecting an admonishment about not putting out on a first date or something equally mortifying to be tacked on, but Enzo’s thankfully eager to get outside.

Klaus’ focus swings to her immediately, just as intent as it had been last night even though they now lack an audience.

Maybe the seduction hadn’t only been for show.

He takes in her dress, floral and floaty and sweeter than last night’s curve hugging LBD, but he doesn’t appear at all disappointed by the difference. “Shall we?” he asks, tipping his head towards the stairwell.

She feels a brief burst of nerves, clenches her hands into fists to avoid wiping her slightly damp palms on her skirt. She can’t allow the gesture with the daylight ring to soften her. She still needs to be on guard, to find out just what kind of plots Klaus Mikaelson is spinning.

And, why in the world do they seem to include  _her_?

* * *

 

Caroline’s never been great with silences. Klaus doesn’t share her struggle, seems content to just walk beside her. He occasionally points something out - a restaurant with great Pad Thai, a well-stocked used bookstore, the best coffee shop within ten blocks. He tells her little stories, offers glimpses into what New Orleans used to be. It’s easy to see that he’d loved the city once upon a time.

As far as ‘Welcome to the Neighborhood!’ tours go its first rate. Unfortunately, Caroline can barely pay attention.  Someone like Klaus _has_ better things to do with his time. So what, exactly, is he trying to tell her?

He offers her his arm as they cross the street and Caroline takes the opportunity to lean closer, “Are you talking in code, here? Because I have to tell you, I am not getting any hidden meanings. Also, if you make a dumb blonde joke I  _will_ kill you.”

He looks down, a smile tugging at his lips. “At the moment I’m just making conversation. I must be rusty if you’re so eager to get to the point.”

It’s on the tip of her tongue to reassure him, because he’s really ridiculously charming, but the wicked little glint of amusement in his eyes stops her. She shoves him away slightly, “Ugh, look at the big bad hybrid fishing for compliments from little ol’ me.”

He laughs softly, his shoulder brushing hers as he continues walking. “In my defense I spend an appalling amount of time with the same small group of people. You, love, are a delightful change.”

He’s probably just laying it on thick in an attempt to make her more willing to accept whatever offer or request he’s about to make. Caroline’s used the tactic a time or two herself and it usually works. Still, if she had to bet, she’d put money on him meaning it, at least a little.

Or maybe she’s just a sucker for a pretty face and an accent.

 She doesn’t shy away from his proximity and matches his pace. “So you’ve been stuck here since the beginning, right?”

“Have you been researching me?”

“Nope!” Caroline chirps, pleased to be able to dent his ego a bit. It’s not even a lie. The only person she might have been comfortable asking is Josh and he’d pretty obviously directed her into Klaus’ path. “I just have a good memory. Stories from ground zero travel, you know?”

“I suppose I can’t blame those that got out of the city while it was still an option for telling tales. It was a rather precarious existence for those who didn’t immediately bow to Dahlia’s demands.”

Caroline’s kind of stuck on one thing. “Wait, what do you mean option?” Her voice had climbed, getting steadily higher pitched, and they garner odd looks from the few patrons at a sidewalk cafe.

“You can still leave. Until you’re presented to the witches, at least.”

“Presented?” It’s nearly a shriek. “Like I’m a freaking  _offering_?”

Klaus accepts her rising agitation with grace, answers the questions she hasn’t been able to formulate. “You’ve been in cities, haven’t you? You don’t look like you’ve been subsisting on animals.”

The disgusted noise she makes is involuntary and Klaus offers her a quick smile, “I couldn’t do it either. It’s a rare vampire that would do it willingly, endure the taste and the weakness, something Dahlia counted on. When humans first started dying those who didn’t fall flocked to the cities. Following the instinct to seek safety in numbers, looking for protection from the authorities.”

“I remember. Marseille was insanely crowded.”

He nods, “And once they were gathered and contained, the witches had leverage. Here, however, they didn’t have as much. There’s always been a sizeable contingent of humans in New Orleans who knew of magic, that it was possible to be more than human. When things got bad they didn’t seek the safety of the military or the government. They sought it with us.”

Ah, an opening. There are more people milling about that she’s used to in a vampire district and she’s been dying to ask about it. “Humans live here?  _With_ you?”

“They do. Initially just various acquaintances but then we started smuggling over those that were less than impressed with their status with the witches. There’s a reason Aunt Dahlia sent others to make nice on television and it’s because she tends to equate humans with livestock. Once we enticed some of the rural holdouts, offered them generous pay for work along with accommodations, we formed our own little society.”

“There are no blood rations here? You just… ask the nice lady behind the counter at the bakery to open a vein and she… does?”

That seemed super weird. And awkward.

His smile is indulgent, “You’re free to ask, of course, and there are many who like the bites, but more are squeamish. We keep the donations clinical, needles and blood bags.”

Something doesn’t add up. “How do the witches still have so much power? Josh warned me about the barriers and they’re more extreme than anywhere I’ve been.”

“Several very powerful witches live in The French Quarter. We fought, couldn’t seem to gain much ground. I made sure that their back up plan, killing all of us in one fell swoop, was impossible. We fought and fought and fought, gained and lost negligible advantages. With few other options we attempted diplomacy.”

“I feel like that’s not super on brand for you,” Caroline points out. “Not that I’m judging!” she adds hurriedly. She’s reasonably certain that he’s not interested in killing her but, according to his reputation, his moods tend to swing wildly. There’s no harm in covering her bases.

Luckily, he laughs, his pace slowing. He turns, pretending to study a window display, leaning into her when she stops too. His murmur is low enough that she has to strain to catch it. “Truthfully, I prefer to think of it as a strategic, and temporary, retreat.”

Finally. They’re getting to the good stuff.

“What did you give up?”

“We willingly allow witches to channel us. At agreed upon times, for agreed upon intervals. And they keep their hands out of our day to day activities on this side of the river.”

Caroline supposes that’s better than being summoned whenever a witch got a little spell happy or power hungry. Of having to scrape for every tiny luxury. “If I stay, if I’m presented, what happens after?”

“You arrange a mutually beneficial time and place with whatever witch selects you.”

Her nose wrinkles in distaste, “Suddenly I relate to the ickiness of being treated like cattle.”

“If things go according to plan Bonnie Bennett will choose you.”

Caroline whirls to face him, her hand grabbing his arm and completely forgetting to play it cool. “Bonnie _is_ here?” she hisses. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. She’s an awfully big feather in Dahlia’s cap. In the beginning, Dahlia thought that if she gathered the ingredients that made vampires she could threaten to unmake us and force compliance.”

“What does that have to do with Bonnie?”

“One of her ancestors created the immortality spell that my mother used to turn us into vampires. If your friend could tap into that power…”

“Gotcha. Bad for vampires.”

Caroline’s not entirely sure if she believes that’s a possibility, however. Bonnie hadn’t been kind to her after she’d turned, had made the daylight ring under duress. Had taken Elena’s side when Caroline had vocalized her desire to make Damon Salvatore pay for the things he’d compelled her to do when she’d been human and unable to defend herself. When she’d left Caroline hadn’t thought to say goodbye, had assumed Bonnie wouldn’t miss her.

Years later, after a killer bought of homesickness and through the magic of Facebook, they’d reconnected. Bonnie hadn’t gone into details, leery of who could be reading, but Caroline had gotten the impression that circumstances had changed, that Bonnie’s worldview wasn’t quite so black and white.

It had been Bonnie who’d told Caroline her mother was sick, who’d allowed her the opportunity to make peace.

“It could have been,” Klaus agrees. “I was able to secure the other ingredients, the doppelgangers and the last bit of white oak.”

“Elena? And…” she has to search her memory for the name. So much had happened in those days. Being murdered hadn't been far from the worst blow. “Katherine. Had Elena’s face but way more swagger.”

“You met Katerina?”

The noise Caroline makes is strangled, “Yeah, when she smothered me with a freaking pillow.”

“Ah. As I‘m sure you imagine, she wasn’t the least bit trustworthy. I had to eliminate her. Elena Gilbert’s been under my protection since I found her. I have no hybrids anymore but I have the means to make more.”

Caroline’s eyes widen, her mouth falling open. She’s still holding his arm and her grip tightens, might even be painful but Klaus doesn’t flinch. “Well. You’re just full of surprises. Elena’s here too?”

“She’s a bit senile these days. Has a devoted caretaker in Stefan Salvatore.”

The news that Stefan had stuck with Elena as she’d aged is one thing Caroline could have easily guessed. All of Elena’s love interests had been a tooth rotting kind of whipped. “Huh. At least she picked the good brother.”

“Not picked. Not really.” Klaus hesitates, his eyes on her face. “I might have killed the other.”

“Might have?” Caroline repeats. She wants to smile, has the silly urge to see if Klaus will high five her. He’s watching her like he’s not sure if she’s going to be pissed, like she might count Damon among her friends, and she’s slightly comforted that her  _entire_ life isn’t an open book.

A girl likes to cultivate a little mystery.

“He wasn’t particularly good at knowing the best time to be silent,” Klaus says.

She snorts, amused at the carefulness he’s displaying. Something tells her he’s never been quite so hesitant to confess to a murder and it’s kind of endearing. “That’s diplomatic.”

His head tilts to the side, and his wariness subsides, “I take it you won’t be lighting any candles in his memory?”

She catches her smile in the shop window’s reflection and it’s vicious. “’Kill Damon Salvatore’ was totally on my bucket list. I hope you made it hurt.”

He hums and Caroline spies a little extra heat in his gaze. He drifts closer until she can feel his legs brush hers. “It wasn’t drawn out.”

“Too bad.”

 “But I held his heart in my hand.” Klaus’ arm twists from her grasp but his palm quickly lands on her bare arm, skimming up until his palm hovers over her neck. She swallows hard when his thumb teases the hollow between her collarbones.

Last night she’d thought about Klaus when she’d been tucked into her unfamiliar bed. How he’d touched her in the bar, without hesitation, how he’d watched her as if unravelling her desires was the only thing on his to do list. She’d wondered why the pads of his fingers were rough, if the scent she’d picked up from him was his skin or something that came from a bottle.

Tried to imagine what kind of noise he’d make if she were to sink her fangs into his full lower lip.

Recalling those thoughts right now, while standing in front of him, is probably a terrible idea.

Caroline clears her throat but her voice still comes out thickened with her rising wants, “Merciful of you.”

“It wasn’t purposeful. I was on a time crunch but I made sure he knew it was coming. Gave him a moment to beg.”

God, that’s satisfying.

“Good,” Caroline breathes.

She’s fairly certain he’s about to kiss her, is totally fine with smudging up the shop window because she can’t imagine they won’t flare hot and forget they’re technically in public.

Unfortunately, Klaus has more self-control. His head dips and he inhales deeply before he steps back and offers her his arm.

Caroline’s throwing him a peeved look, letting just how unimpressed she is with his lack of move making obvious.

She’s a vampire. Of  _course_ she gets hot when discussing the death of her enemies. He’d pretty obviously felt it too.

“We still have business,” Klaus murmurs, apologetic.

“Wow. So you’re being  _responsible_? Clearly, your reputation has some holes.”

He doesn’t seem to mind the mocking, looping his arm through hers and keeping her close. “I’d not have lived this long if I was predictable.”

She’s too annoyed to concede the point.

“Besides,” Klaus continues. “There’s something to be said for anticipation.”

 

* * *

“Wow. You look freaking _great_ for your age.”

It’s the first thing that pops into Caroline’s head when she and Bonnie are alone. They’re in some kind of sitting room and she’s nervous, hovering near a squishy looking navy couch. She’d thought she’d overcome her tendency to blurt while anxious but seeing Bonnie Bennett, supposedly in her eighties, has brought old habits roaring back.

Caroline had re-met Elena a few days ago. She hadn’t recognized Caroline but they’d had a pleasant, if repetitive, conversation while sipping sweet tea on the back porch of the house Elena and Stefan lived in. Caroline had mostly let Elena talk, fascinated by the lines carved into a face that used to be so familiar, the white hair that still tumbled straight and thick down her back. Bonnie looks a little older than she had in high school, a little curvier, her makeup more dramatic, but not a whole lot.

“I could say the same thing about you,” Bonnie points out.

She sits and Caroline follows her lead, plopping down. She leans forward immediately, still studying Bonnie with no small amount of eagerness. “I’m a vampire. You’re not unless there’s some giant loophole I don’t know about.”

“I’m not a vampire.” It’s said with little inflection and not even a hint of disgust. A good sign considering Caroline’s here to get Bonnie on Team Overthrow The Evil Witchriarchy. “I started dabbling with the life prolonging herbs when I was about thirty. Some weird panic after I found a grey hair that I’ll go ahead and blame on the money sucking beauty industry.”

“Bastards,” Caroline quips. “You’re totally smoking hot.”

A laugh bubbles from Bonnie, achingly familiar. “Thanks.” She grabs a lighter from a side table, grabs a wrapped bundle from the glass coffee table between them.

The herbal scent is recognizable even though it’s been ages since Caroline’s smelled it. Her brows creep up. “Are you planning on killing me? I’ve never had a witch use sage while draining me dry. I figured privacy was kind of frowned upon in these compounds.”

It stood to reason that someone capable of taking over the world was really paranoid. Caroline had caught her first glimpse of Dahlia in the flesh today, had been surprised at how… normal she’d looked. Dark hair, stoic expression. Enough confidence to show her disdain for the proceedings she’d lorded over. Caroline and Enzo had been introduced, had pretended not to hear the murmurs of the small gathering of witches as they’d decided who would be draining who.

As Klaus had expected she’d ended up with Bonnie. Enzo with a slender blonde Klaus had claimed was one of the witches amenable to the coupe he’s been plotting. Caroline’s going to be having words with him later because, from what she’d observed, the woman who would be poking around in Enzo’s head while she weakened him for her own gain is Dahlia’s right hand.

His explanation had better be super convincing. The buckets of sexual tension between them, the camaraderie that’s steadily built as they’d shared info, won’t mean a thing if Klaus thinks sacrificing Enzo is a good idea.

“It is. Dahlia tried to outright forbid it.” Bonnie leans back, sinking into the cushions at her back, and for a moment she looks exhausted. “I told her if I couldn’t get some me time occasionally I’d stop the herbs and start aging again. I’ll have plenty of me time when I’m dead, right? She backed down after that little quip.”

The bitterness is unmistakable and there’s a healthy dollop of defeat in Bonnie’s manner. Caroline kind of wants to reach over and give her a shake and a pep talk, a reminder her that she can fight, but they’re probably not that kind of friends anymore.

Yet, anyway.

“Aw, Bonnie Bennett witchy rebel. I’m so proud,” Caroline teases, hoping it’ll help lighten Bon’s mood.

Again, Bonnie doesn’t try to deny anything. “I played the good little soldier for years. Got sick of it.”

Caroline glances at the door, then at the smoke coming off of the sage packet. “I can… speak freely, right?”

“In this room? Yes. I wouldn’t recommend trying it anywhere else outside of Klaus’ territory.” The house is located in a tiny section of the former Garden District that had been designated neutral ground (Caroline had triple checked because getting her skin peeled off sounded exceedingly unpleasant) It’s much nicer on the inside than the crumbling exterior (seriously, the shabby siding screamed ‘child eating witch lives here!’) had made it seem.

She decides to roll with being blunt since Bonnie hasn’t been the least bit phased so far.  “Why are you still  _here_? You seem like you hate it.”

“I do hate it. Remember when we talked about getting out of Mystic Falls? Seeing the world? This place is so much worse. The French Quarter is less than a mile across and I’ve been stuck in it for forty years.”

Well. That certainly sounds like a terrible existence. Caroline and Enzo have been hopping from city to city for the same time period and it’s sucked sometimes but they had all the freedom they could steal for themselves and they’d had each other. From what Klaus has said, and after observing Bonnie’s listlessness, Caroline believes that Bon doesn’t have much in the way of allies let alone friends.

She’s going to have to fix that ASAP.

Caroline offers her hand, “Let’s get this over with.”

For the first time ever she’s going to give a witch power gladly. And she’s not going to hide anything.

Bonnie’s expression turns surprised, “You don’t actually have to, Caroline. I know it’s awful and I don’t need a boost for anything right now. Truthfully, I don’t need them ever. I just picked you so no one else could. If they saw me in your head...”

They’d use Caroline like they used Elena, prey on Bonnie’s loyalty and get her stuck even deeper.

“I trust you. And I think you’ll trust me more after you pick through my mind.” It’s a risk but Caroline doesn’t see the point of a slow reveal. Bonnie doesn’t care enough about Dahlia, or Dahlia’s rules, to bother with trying to stop what Caroline’s signed on to help with. She might not join the team but she won’t be an obstacle. If they fail, Bonnie’s life won’t change. But, if they succeed, she’ll be able to leave.

Move on. Live and die on her own terms. The exact same things Caroline wants.

Caroline holds her breath when Bonnie’s fingers enclose hers. She’s surprised that she doesn’t feel much, so used to the ache in her head when a witch shoves in, the weird crushing pressure in her chest when they start to pull power from her. Bonnie cares enough to be careful and Caroline only feels a little light headed and slightly winded, no more than she would if she’d just gone on a leisurely jog.

She’s not sure how much time has passed when Bonnie pulls her hand away. Caroline stretches, rubs her eyes and finds that Bonnie’s staring at her in disbelief. She pats her face, wipes her mouth on the back of her hand self-consciously. “What? Did I drool or something?”

“You’ve certainly been busy.”

“Does that seriously surprise you? Boredom and Caroline Forbes are a bad combo, always have been.”

Bonnie smiles, shakes her head in mock disapproval. “And I see you haven’t grown out of your questionable taste in boys.”

Offensive and Caroline has strenuous objections. “First of all, rude. Second, I maintain that JC was the hottest  _and_ most talented member of NSYNC. Way more crush worthy than Justin Ramen Perm.”

Bonnie’s lips twitch, the way they always did when she really wanted to laugh, and Caroline awards herself a point. Takes another when Bonnie heaves herself up, “We’re going to need a drink or four, I think.”

Yep, they’re well on their way back to BFF status.

* * *

 

She’d expected Klaus would find her quickly. Hadn’t thought he’d be waiting for her in her living room.

He’s standing, next to the window that Caroline had painstakingly scraped paint from over the last few days, and he smiles warmly when she enters the apartment. There’s a man she doesn’t know in one corner, his fingertips tracing the wall. He’s older, maybe sixty, with close cropped grey hair and solid shoulders. He chants softly and lighted symbols, letters and shapes Caroline doesn’t recognize, flare bright for a moment before fading into the paint.

Enzo’s eyeing the witch suspiciously shadowing his movements from an intimidating distance, his face fixed into a glower.

“There’s totally a joke here,” Caroline says, setting her bag down. “Two vampires and a witch walk into a bar…”

The witch’s soft recitation doesn’t pause, Enzo favors her with an unimpressed look before returning to his guard dog stance. Klaus makes his way towards her and he’s at least willing to pretend he finds her funny.

Give her a few more days and he won’t be faking it, Caroline’s sure.

“This is Maddox,” Klaus says, nodding towards the witch. “He’s a very old friend, has always been loyal to me.”

“Dahlia lets you keep pet witches?” Caroline exclaims, shocked. Letting humans stay in close proximity was one thing. They had no real power. She’d managed to ask the question softly, figures there’s no need to antagonize the guy doing magic in the place she’ll be living for the foreseeable future. No need to piss him off and have him throw in something unpleasant.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Klaus replies. “He’s ensuring your home is private. There are more mundane ways we could mask our conversations but I thought you might appreciate the extra insurance.”

“The old blast the shower to hide our whispers trick?” Caroline teases. “Yeah, that would get old fast. My hair is already frizzing something awful in this humidity.”

Her dress is sticking to her in all the wrong places and she’s equal part impressed and annoyed at how cool and together Klaus appears, despite the fact that he’s wearing dark colors and heavy boots. She nudges one with her foot, the flimsy sole of her flip flop no match for the scuffed leather, “How are you not boiling? What do you have against sandals? Maybe you could try a cute little boat shoe?”

“I suspect my brother Elijah would cut off my feet to teach me a lesson if I dared to wear sandals in the house I share with my siblings.”

Caroline blinks, looking for a hint that he’s joking, but Klaus’ expression remains perfectly serious. “Yikes. At least they’d grow back?”

“I’d rather not risk it.”

She can’t say she blames him.

Enzo seems to agree, “It’s not a fun process.”

Caroline grimaces at the memory his words draw to the surface. Thankfully, she’s never had to regrow a limb but she remembers Enzo, drawn and pale and shaking, struggling with his slowly healing arm when she’d first pulled him out of that collapsed lab at Whitmore. It had been exposed to the sun when he’d been trapped, had burned off to just above the elbow. It had taken nearly two weeks and immense amounts of blood to heal. Caroline had been exhausted from letting witches drain her enough to get the extra rations but even so she hadn’t been able to sleep properly knowing Enzo’s agony, even if he’d gritted his teeth and refused to cry out.

Maddox seems to have wrapped up his work, waits silently next to the door. He catches Klaus’ eye, nods, and leaves, and Caroline’s impressed by the swift, silent, communication.

Enzo is too. “Your help is well trained, mate.”

“We’ve known each other a very long time. Maddox was there when I broke my curse. Spent weeks in Mystic Falls, Virginia, eating terrible food and drinking cheap wine at the same three restaurants, all with nary a complaint.”

“Mystic Falls, Virginia,” Enzo repeats, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. He shifts to look at Caroline, silently questioning whether she finds Klaus’ words alarming. She gives her head a tiny shake and his tension eases. “Gorgeous neglected to mention you two were acquainted.”

“We weren’t. We haven’t really hammered out the timeline but I think Klaus must have just arrived as I was leaving. And he was long gone by the time I worked up the courage to go back and say goodbye to my mother.”

“An awfully big coincidence,” Enzo notes. There’s an edge to the words, a warning that would be slightly annoying if Caroline didn’t know his intentions are the very best.

“Maybe its fate,” she jokes and Enzo snorts derisively. Caroline knocks her shoulder against his playfully, “Hey, the idea that fate is a thing is no weirder than  _plenty_ of our actual experiences.”

“Or perhaps your romantic streak isn’t quite as dead and buried as you’d like to believe,” Enzo shoots back, complete with a taunting eyebrow wriggle and a significant look at Klaus.

Ugh, he’s so embarrassing. Worse than a freaking sitcom dad sometimes.

Caroline grabs his shoulders, turning him away from her and giving him a not so gentle shove towards the door. “Alright, that’s enough out of you. You need to go away. I’ll fill you in on the serious plots later.”

He makes a show of straightening his clothes, doesn’t seem to be in any great hurry to actually _leave_. “I’ve got to meet up with my new witch overlord anyway. She said her name was Freya and she doesn’t appear to be awful.”

“She’s not,” Klaus says. “Try not to fight her. I want her to see the last few days. We’ve made… progress and she’ll need to make appropriate adjustments.”

“Another of your witch pets?” Enzo asks.

Klaus grins, rocks back on his heels. “Not exactly. And, word of advice, don’t refer to her as such. She’s got a bit of a vindictive streak but she comes by it honestly.”

It’s said with warmth, real fondness, and Caroline quickly tamps down the irrational bubble of jealousy. Klaus Mikaelson’s friends and lovers are none of her business so long as they don’t turn on him and screw up what they’re working on. He’s a thousand years old, likely more than capable of keeping a woman happy and eating out of the palm of his hand.

Not that she’s going to devote time to thinking about  _how_ he would go about that.

“Thanks for the tip,” Enzo says. He offers them a mocking little wave as he opens the door, “Keep it clothed in common areas, yeah? I’ve got a sensitive nose and I don’t need to know about your rutting.”

If she’d had anything in her hand she would have thrown it. Her jaw drops in outrage and she feels her face grow hot even as a low noise of amusement rumbles out of Klaus. He turns to her, “Interesting company you keep.”

“I literally found him in a hole and sometimes I deeply regret breaking all my nails to dig him out.”

Klaus shakes his head, “No you don’t.”

She deflates, “Ugh, shut up. I wish I could.”

“May I sit?” Klaus asks and waits for her nod before lowering himself onto the sofa. He speaks again when Caroline’s followed his lead. “I think you’re not one to give up on someone you consider yours. It’s why I’m glad Josh stumbled across you.”

She twists, tucking her leg underneath her. “I’m sorry, what? Are you saying you were looking for me?”

“Either you or Abby Bennett.”

“Bonnie’s mom? Good luck. She wasn’t super reliable even when we were kids. How is she even still alive? Or…”

Klaus confirms her suspicions. “Turned. By Damon Salvatore.”

Caroline’s never met a witch who’d want to be a vampire. It’s not easy to guess that the transformation hadn’t been optional. “What a dick.”

“I was told ages ago that your friend Bonnie wasn’t as stringently opposed to vampires as many of her kind. That she’s come to find Dahlia’s tactics distasteful. Still, she wasn’t willing to break free of the life she’s been given.”

Having spent the afternoon with Bonnie it’s easy, natural, to jump to her defense. “Everyone she knows is dead or nearly so. She’d be turning on people she’s spent the last how many decades with? It wouldn’t be easy.”

“No. Which is why we’ve never had much luck convincing her to use her powers against Dahlia. Until now.”

“Just how many plants do you have over at Wicked Witch HQ?” Klaus is talking like he’s got a whole network, like he’s at a tipping point, and Caroline’s trying really hard not to get too excited too soon.

“My brother Kol managed to make contact with a young witch, dazzled her and convinced her to pull him from The Otherside. Upon his resurrection he claimed to hate me, insisted that he wanted nothing more than to make me suffer, and he threw himself into the fray at Dahlia’s side, and he’s been feeding me information ever since.”

“And you trust him?”

“He died because I didn’t. That was a mistake.”

The words are solemn, regretful, and Caroline finds herself reaching out. Klaus accepts her touch, flips his hand so their palms press together.

“Kol’s the one who first told me of Bonnie Bennett’s shaky loyalty. He saw you, and her mother, in her head, and we’ve been on the lookout ever since.”

“He saw me?”

Klaus’ fingers enclose hers, “It’s my understanding that Bonnie chose to channel Kol early on. My brother’s always been a bit of a student of magic, and he offered her his knowledge. At some point, when they became more  _intimate_ , he gained the ability to see into her mind.”

Huh. Caroline has no problem reading between those lines and she’s totally going to have to grill Bonnie for details about the freaky mind meld sex she’d neglected to mention she’s been having.

“And Freya? She’s a mole too, right? How’d you charm her? And please, feel free to gloss over the less wholesome parts.”

She regrets the words as soon as their out of her mouth because Klaus’ eyes light up and he radiates satisfaction. “Are your sensibilities that delicate?”

She squeezes his hand in warning but doesn’t pull away. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He hums, shifting closer, his voice roughening. “Oh, sweetheart, the things I’d do to learn your secrets.”

She doesn’t reply immediately, sucking in a breath in hopes of calming her rapidly warming body. She’d like to be cool and unaffected, probably could if this tension between them was just physical. Caroline’s had plenty of damn good, no strings attached, sex with vampires over the last few decades. Packed together in designated areas it’s easy to find a willing partner, a pleasant way to pass the time when you had few other options. It’s always just been about bodies, mindless, friction and sensation, lacking any real connection.

This is very different. It’s been a very long time since Caroline’s been enticed mentally.

Klaus is unfairly good at verbal foreplay, always gets her mind whirling and god it’s a turn on that he seems to value that she’s got a brain and opinions and abilities to contribute to the cause.

It’s so hard to pump the breaks but she needs to. Besides, hadn’t he been on Team Anticipation? It takes an awful amount of willpower but Caroline manages to stay on her cushion and on task. “Are you dodging my question?”

Klaus looks disappointed for a brief moment and Caroline savors it. It’s good to know she’s not the only one struggling with her urges. “Not really,” he says, shifting back to business mode. “And, in all honesty, there’s nothing I’d need to gloss over. After all, what’s more wholesome than a long lost sister returning to the family fold?”

She rears back in shock, takes a moment to make sure she’s heard him correctly. He doesn’t rush her, seems content to give her a moment to process. Caroline takes the time to formulate a list of questions because the logistics of a thousand year old vampire having a mortal sister seem impossible “That… you’re going to need to explain that.”

Klaus smiles and shifts, settles into her couch like he’s planning on staying awhile. “Gladly.”

* * *

 

Caroline’s taken to meeting up with Bonnie twice a week. Bonnie had invented a cover and they’re able to spend hours together.

According to Bonnie she’s been amusing herself with learning about different branches of magic off and on while she’s been in New Orleans. She’s used that as an excuse for leaving The French Quarter, has claimed she’s tackling another. Bonnie’s been dropping hints that she’s close to winning over the witches on New Orleans’ ancestral plane, a feat that no other witch has managed. She feigns exhaustion, takes a lot of naps, and no one’s questioned her venturing out to draw on the extra magic of a vampire.

Dahlia is apparently thrilled by the development, hasn’t questioned Bonnie’s trips at all yet.

They talk about what’s happening with the witches, what Caroline’s doing across the river. They reminisce about Mystic Falls, share stories of their lives between then and now. Caroline’s got to admit that she’s missed quality girl talk.

She usually stops by Klaus’ place before heading home. Ostensibly so she can relay any pertinent info but that usually only takes fifteen, twenty minutes.

She and Klaus find other things to discuss afterwards and Enzo no longer bothers to grab a second helping of whatever he’s eating for dinner for her.

He’s full of commentary, of course, but Caroline can’t bring herself to care. She’s seen him tucked into dark corners at the bar, knows he’s been making his own friends.

She doesn’t bother to knock anymore, doesn’t even use the front door. She slips off the path, along the side of the house, through a side door that’s just off Klaus’ studio. She does all of this on silent feet, hoping one day she’ll be stealthy enough to surprise him.

All because she likes the moments where she can watch him, when he indulges her pretends he hasn’t noticed her arrival. She lets her gaze linger while he keeps his focus on another task. It’s nice to observe, appreciate, without worrying about what Klaus is seeing when he looks at her.

She could deal if she knew she was only giving out sex vibes but she’s moved beyond that. Lust is easy and she’s more than willing to climb on Klaus’ desk and see where their physical chemistry takes them. It’s the softer stuff that worries Caroline. She wants conversations and confessions and intimacy and big damn romance and she’s not sure if that’s even possible.

It just seems likely that Original Hybrid megalomaniacs aren’t into declarations and morning sunrise cuddling.

She can usually keep a lid on her feelings, cracks jokes and asks questions and tries not to stare at him for long lest his freakish perceptiveness latch on to her inner struggle. Caroline’s not naive enough to think that they’ll never have to address it but she wants to push it off for as long as she can. Preferably until they’ve put Dahlia and her loyalists down and Caroline can skedaddle and hide in a cave in Bali if it turns out her thing for Klaus is totally unrequited.

She’ll stay long enough for hot hybrid vampire sex though. She’s not an idiot.

Today she’s out of luck, doesn’t have the opportunity to get in an ogle. Klaus is at his desk though he doesn’t seem busy, leaning back with his feet propped up on the edge. His eyes snap to her as soon as she walks through the door. She closes it, something she’d started doing early on and he’s never discouraged. She usually helps herself to a drink, settles into the comfiest couch, but today she’s got a bit of a bone to pick with Klaus.

She crosses her arms, presses her back to the door. He looks puzzled at her ire, his feet hitting the ground with a thump, “Sweetheart, are you…”

“You were going to  _sacrifice_ me? And Tyler Lockwood? He was kind of a dick but come on. All high school boys are.”

Klaus shakes his head, his lips twitching. “To be fair, I didn’t know the first thing about you. Only that you were a vampire and I had need of one.”

“Yeah, not super comforting.”

He rises, circles his massive desk. His hands are held loosely at his sides, palms up. His tone dips low, turns coaxing. “You were gone before my people could get you. Impressive, really. You left without a trace.”

“I had a lot of people trying to kill me.” Klaus’ plans for her hadn’t even been on her radar. Between her parent’s conviction that she was a monster who’d stolen their daughter’s face and Damon’s insistence that she was more trouble than she was worth, Caroline had gratefully taken the stacks of money Stefan had offered, and his advice to keep moving, and gotten the hell out.

“Anyone who’s still alive?” Klaus asks. It’s outwardly casual but Caroline’s careful observations of him over the last several weeks allow her to notice the underlying anger. She is fully aware that she can only read him because he allows it.

He trusts her, at least a little.

“Why?” she challenges, not budging even as he draws closer. “Are you gonna bring me their heads on a platter?”

His smile is slow, warm and knowing, and he plants his hands on the door, loosely caging her in. “Something tells me you’d appreciate it more if I were to hand you the knife.”

Damn it, how’s she supposed to resist that?

She doesn’t even need to take a full step, shifting her weight just the smallest bit until she crashes into him. He presses back, reaching down to hook her thighs over his hips pinning her against the door as she takes her first taste of him. Caroline curses the denim she wears as his hands run over her. He rakes his nails across the fabric before he sneaks a calloused palm under the back of her shirt to urge her closer.

She’s thought about this, more times than she’d ever admit, but her fantasies have let her down. Klaus inhales sharply against her open mouth, one of his hands threading into her hair to firm the kiss. His tongue slips passed her lips, stroking slow and dirty promises, learning the curves of her lips and the shape of her teeth. It’s a storm of a kiss, wild and all consuming, and Caroline can only bring herself to pull back enough for quick gulps of air before diving right back in.

Klaus’ body melts into hers. He’s fever hot and tense, holds her in place without even a twitch of effort. Caroline clutches his shoulders and fights to keep up, grinds against him with a moan when her fangs nick his lip and the decadent flavor of his blood bursts across her taste buds.

He’s delicious and she wants more.

She licks over the wound, pouting when he pulls back. She’s close enough to see the cut knit back together, reaches to brush a fingertip over his wet lower lip. He bites down, playful, wrapping an arm around her waist and whirling her away from the door. Her back hits the worn leather her favorite couch. Her shirt has ridden up and Klaus swoops down, pressing a kiss to the skin bared above the waistband of her jeans. Caroline arches up, her abs tensing and Klaus’ laugh is delighted. “I’d planned to have you in my bed the first time,” he tells her. “I’d thought it would happen at night, that you’d snap at the bar.”

“If I’d snapped at the bar we never would have made it all the way back here.”

“Oh? So eager for me, are you?”

Caroline glares, “Like you aren’t? The angry face you make when the bartender tries to flirt with me tells another story.”

Klaus is unrepentant, “Not particularly bright, that one. Besides, you can’t claim you don’t get jealous when others try to draw my notice.”

She might have entertained fairly vivid fantasies about yanking Klaus into the bathrooms, jamming the door shut, and refusing to be quiet, letting everyone know what they were up to.

She figured it was only expedient. She’s not great at sharing.

Still, Klaus doesn’t need an ego boost.

She blows out an irritated huff, “I do _not_ get jealous.”

“You do. And I like it. I like the fire in your eyes and the way you press closer to me. I want to return the favor, have you smell of me so everyone in this city knows you’re mine.”

She sees gold ringing his irises but it doesn’t scare her. How can it when Klaus has just wiped away all her worries? He doesn’t  _just_ desire her, won’t be satisfied with a few nights.

He’s made plans. She wants to hear  _all_ about them.

“Tell me how you thought this would happen.”

She feels his smile as he drags his lips up the plane of her belly, shoving her shirt up and baring more of her. His stubble scrapes over her sternum, his head turning so he can kiss the inner curve of her breast above the line of her bra.  “You’ve wanted me since that first night in the bar. I’d planned to make you regret your hesitance.”

She swallows harshly, “Oh?”

He glances up, catching her eyes. His hair is mussed, his lips fuller from her kisses, and the naked want he’s displaying has her breath coming out in a pant. Her fingers twitch, reaching for him, but Klaus moves quickly, catching her hands in his as he settles his weight against her. He’s hard, thick behind his jeans, and he notches his cock between her spread thighs, rubbing against her, pulling a whimper from her lips.

There are at least three layers of fabric separating them, it shouldn’t feel _so_ good.

 He presses her hands back, into the arm of the couch, giving her wrists one last squeeze that’s clearly a demand.

“Ah ah ah,” he croons. “If you touch me you’ll spoil my plans.”

“Plans?” she croaks, squirming against his unmoving form.

“I thought about striping your clothes, piece by piece. Slowly.” His fingers trace feather light patterns across her forearms and Caroline shivers, knotting her hands together. Klaus continues, merciless, his voice a hypnotic rasp. “Of course, I had different strategies planned, in deference to the variations in your wardrobe. If you’d been wearing one of those tempting little sundresses I’d have started with your legs, licked and bitten at the insides of your thighs until you were dripping for me. Then I’d have pressed my tongue ever so gently against whatever scrap of fabric you’d worn underneath, just a tease to start, until your hips twitched in a demand for more.”

Caroline groans, writhing underneath him, searching for more friction.

Klaus makes a low sound of satisfaction. He sits up, drawing her into his lap. His hands smooth over her waist, thumbs rubbing against the cotton of the white tank she wears. His hands are quick to undo the clasp of her bra. It’s strapless and falls away easily. Her breast rise and fall with her rapid breaths and Klaus watches intently, his thumbs coming up to stroke her nipples. They grow sensitive, pressing into tight peaks, straining against the fabric of her top. “This particular shirt is a favorite of mine. I’ve often wondered at the color of your nipples, if they get darker when you’re aroused. If I could see them through this simple little piece of cotton.”

His head lowers and she doesn’t even care that he ruins her shirt, snapping the straps so it falls, bunching at her hips. He eagerly sucks a nipple into his mouth, his teeth scraping the tip until she cries out and rocks against him. She grabs his hair, silently begging him not to stop, “God, Klaus. More.”

“More?” he murmurs. “Of this?” He bends her back over his arm, palming the breast that’s wet from his mouth as he flicks his tongue over her other nipple. “Or would you like me to keep talking to you? I confess, the thoughts I have about the ensemble you were wearing yesterday are among my favorites. I’d have had you sprawled across my lap, my hand buried inside your shorts, tight to you, letting you grind against my palm until you grew slick enough to take my fingers deep.”

She slouches down so she can kiss him hungrily, frantic. Her hips are moving against him in harsh jerks, chasing an angle that will offer even a hint of relief for the deep ache his words and touch have built. It’s only frustrating her more, the drag of her wet panties against her sensitive flesh a taunt. She rips at his shirt, tosses it aside, running her hands over his chest and shoulders greedily.

Words tumble from her, running together in a barely decipherable mess. “I want all of that. Everything. I want you.”  

Klaus has no trouble understanding and she finds herself on her back again. Denim is shredded and then his cock slips through her soaked folds, a teasing glide that rubs the entire length of him against her clit. Caroline’s head digs back against the couch and he shoves one of her legs off to the side, bringing the other up to hook over the back of the couch. She moans a protest when he rears up, bites her lip and closes her eyes when he looks down at her. She’s spread wide, bare and open, and she gasps when she feels his fingers. A thumb first, gliding delicately along the seam of her, swirling over her entrance. He rubs her clit next, firm circles that her hips match instinctively. She knows it’ll be a short climb, can already feel her stomach tightening. “Eyes open,” Klaus demands. “I want to watch you come, love.”

It’s a struggle to pry her eyelids up but she’d glad she’d made the effort when she sees how wrecked Klaus looks. His collarbones are in sharp relief, the muscles in his shoulders taut. Her eyes drag down the length of his body, coming to rest on his cock, laying heavy against his thigh. He follows her gaze, his feral. “I’m going to push inside of you as you come apart. Feel you ride it out, wrapped tight around me. When I build you up again will you want me to go slow, I wonder? Shall I pin your hands again and try to drive you crazy? Or will you want it fast and rough with your nails carving my back bloody?”

She comes then, spine bowing almost painfully, shaking with the force of it. Klaus is true to his word and she cries out at the perfection of it, the relief of having him thick and hot inside of her while she spasms for long blissful moments. He watches her throughout, tender words of praise and low voiced promises of what else he’ll make her feel helping her through. He kisses her until she can focus, lush and clinging, pulling back when she manages to mumble his name. His brows rise, expectant, more than a little smug. “Have you made your selection, then?”

Oh, there’s no way she can let him get away with that kind of smart assery. Not at this early stage.

“Slow,” she manages, only the slightest bit unsteady. “We’ll save fast and rough for your bed. I want to see what your mouth can do between my thighs and then I want you to bend me over it. Or no, wait. You wouldn’t happen to have some kind of giant fancy mirror, would you?”

His mouth goes slack and his smugness recedes. Only a bit, but Caroline will take it. His hips withdraw, achingly slowly like he’d promised and Caroline groans, half in protest of the emptiness, half in reaction to how good the drag feels. “I’m sure I can scrounge something up,” Klaus grits out.

Then he’s easing inside of her again and intelligent conversation becomes an impossibility.

For a  _really_ longtime.

* * *

 

Caroline’s not sure what time it is, only knows that it’s late. They’d made it to Klaus’ bed sometime before the sun had set. He’d spread her out on his white sheets while the room had been golden, had settled his mouth between her thighs and sucked and teased her to the edge before stopping.

She’d howled in protest and he’d laughed, the jackass. Had nuzzled her thighs until she’d calmed and then started all over.

Again and again and again until she’d been a sweaty, thrashing mess. Until she’d threatened to finish herself. He’s sat back and let her, watched her fingers work her clit. Still hadn’t let her come.

Not until she’d begged.

Now, sore and sated with the sheets below them torn and blood stained, Caroline definitely regrets waiting to jump his bones so she supposes that’s a point for Klaus.

But that’ll be her little secret.

She can see the night sky through the windows that line one side of the room, but she’s too comfy to look for a clock. Klaus seems content where he is too, sprawled underneath her, his hands smoothing through her knotted curls.

Something Bonnie had said earlier, about something Dahlia had planned for the new moon pops into Caroline’s head and she stiffens, her head lifting off Klaus’ chest. “Crap, I totally forgot we were supposed to debrief.”

She expects a swift shift to business mode but Klaus’ expression remains soft. She’d call it content but she doesn’t want to jinx anything. He tugs at the strands in his grasp and Caroline lets out a pleased hum. She’d thought her arousal banked but maybe not. “Will it keep?” he asks.

“It’s a moon thing, you know how witches are, so yeah. Nothing super urgent. Also, I met your brother finally and he’s… something.”

Something super annoying and smirky and full of commentary about how his brother’s taste has vastly improved. While the words had technically been flattering Caroline’s fingers had still itched to form a fist.

She feels Klaus rumble of laughter where their pressed together. “Kol is an… acquired taste.”

“Bon said the same thing.”

“We’ll discuss your news tomorrow. Over breakfast.” His hand glides down her spine, “I find I have more pressing concerns.”

He palms her ass, shifting so she feels his cock stir against her stomach. Caroline resists the urge to part her thighs in invitation. “Are you sure? My job is Bennett Witch Whisperer, isn’t it?”

Klaus sighs and with a lightning fast shift of muscle Caroline finds herself trapped underneath him. Not a bad position, all things considered, but he angles his hips away from hers, nudging her chin up to regard her seriously. “Had I been wrong about the Bennett witch being amenable to my offer, had she taken one look at you and ordered you out of the city, I would have figured out a way to have you to stay. I’d have had a more difficult time wrangling encounters with you but I’ve had done it all the same. You’re not in my bed merely because you’re useful, Caroline.”

Her eyes go wide, an inhale stuck in her throat. It seems as though she’d been wrong in assuming Klaus wasn’t a grand declarations kind of guy. She’d accepted that he wasn’t  _just_ hot for her body but a part of her had figured the ‘mine’ stuff was just pre-coital possessive werewolf thing.

A soft, “Oh,” is her ever so brilliant response.

He doesn’t hold her inarticulateness against her. “I’ve enjoyed you from the beginning, sweetheart. Even before I found out just how clever and ruthless and devious you truly are.”

She smacks his shoulder, even though she knows it’s a compliment. “Hey, watch who you’re calling devious, buddy.”

He catches her hand, kisses her knuckles. “Devious,” he repeats. “In the best possible ways.”

Caroline relaxes, offering him a smile. Bends her knee and wraps a thigh around him. “I suppose that particular trait is part of what got me here.”

“And you don’t regret that?”

It’s not a casual question. He’s letting her see that her answer means something to him. She doesn’t make him wait. “Are you kidding? It would have taken Enzo and I like, eighty more years to abolish this gross magic sucking system your evil Aunt set up. With you and your A+ schemes and your crack team of vampires and witches it’ll be done in two. Three, tops.”

“And then?” Klaus asks. He rolls to the side, lets his head rest next to hers on the pillow. “What will you do then?”

Caroline grins wider, shoves him onto his back, throws her leg over his hips and sitting up straight. She tosses her tangled hair behind her, rolls her shoulders and stares down at him with all the imperiousness she can muster while she’s giddy with the certainty that Klaus wants to be a permanent fixture in her future. “I’m going to make you take me to Paris, duh.”

When they’re free Caroline wants Klaus standing next to her.

The urgency in his hands, the rough noise he makes when she licks into his mouth, tells her he’s right there with her.

Together, they’ll make it happen.

 


End file.
